


Kings and Queens and Lovers

by fragilelittleteacup



Category: The Originals (TV), The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: AU- New Orleans 1919, Anal Sex, Dominance, F/M, First Time Bottoming, Gangsters, M/M, Orgies (implied), Period-Typical Homophobia (implied), Submissiveness, Top!Enzo, bottom!damon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-07
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-08-29 15:05:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8494567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fragilelittleteacup/pseuds/fragilelittleteacup
Summary: The Mikaelsons are the all-powerful rulers of New Orleans, and Damon is the gang leader of the famous Salvatore clan. The blood never stops flowing, and the party never ends.Then, a stranger named Lorenzo comes to town. (Damon/Enzo centric)





	

 

New Orleans in 1919 was a place of opulence.

It was also a place of impossible peace; werewolves, witches, vampires, and humans partied together, slathered in diamonds and wealth and a unanimous, uncontested determination to enjoy themselves despite their past grievances. It was the time after, and before, war. Old resentment and rivalries, even ones that spanned out centuries, were thrown to the side and forgotten in favour of laughter and drink. The werewolves–dressed in furs and fitted suits, led by a Queen with eyes like onyx and a smile like the Devil–danced with the vampires, in direct defiance of all past conflict. The vampires, led by three great immortal rulers and the promise of their unending power, took to this arrangement willingly and happily, especially when whispers began to hum along the French Quarter, that their great King Klaus was having an affair with the wolf Queen.

It was less a cause for concern than a matter for celebration.

The witches danced with the vampires too, their covens practicing magic widely and proudly, offering gifts of ritualistic and enchanted nature. The young women, and few men, that populated their kingdom of magic were beautiful and seemingly eternal, as the great Ancestors gifted them with impossible youth and beauty. One particular witch, who had flowing red hair, was a siren of temptation, rumoured to have been eloping with King Elijah–who was also known as the Noble King.

It seemed, to the public at least, that the Mikaelson family were presenting _themselves_ up as peace offerings, the three immortals seeming to have cavorted with every faction there was. Queen Rebekah was somewhat more restrained than her brothers, seeming to prefer love over carnal satisfaction, but even she was fond of throwing parties with small guest lists and very little clothing. Much to the delight of the human faction, her lover was Marcellus Gerard, a slave boy that Klaus had turned into a vampire after rescuing him from torment and imprisonment. Klaus was an, at times, tumultuous ruler, but Marcellus was a symbol of the King’s independence from the current ideals around slavery, racism, and violence. What he lacked in restraint, he made up for in virtue, and King Elijah was always there to smooth over his brother’s mishaps.

Of course, as well as being a time of peace, it was also a time of economic prosperity–which meant the human faction had a great deal of power in trade, bootlegging, and lucrative black-market deals. It also meant that, within the great kingdom of New Orleans, gangs were both many in number and highly active within society. Rivalry between them, however, had faded in favour of the financial success that alliances brought.

The most powerful of these gangs, a diverse crew of vampires, wolves, witches, and even humans, was led by Damon Salvatore.

He was a suave, smooth-talking playboy, who wore suits and wore them _well,_ blue eyes bright and hypnotising. He barely ever used the vampiric gift of compulsion; he had seduced, bribed, blackmailed, and talked his way to the top of the New Orleans societal ladder. His charm and wit was known all through the city, and he–much like the Mikaelsons–saw sex as a valid form of peace brokering. A frequent guest at royal parties and gatherings (even, notably, at Rebekah’s exclusive gatherings), he seemed to be unstoppable, irresistible. He had a temper typical of a vampire, but only when those he loved or protected were threatened.

His story was shrouded in mystery; no one knew how he had been turned, or when, or by who. His younger brother and right-hand-man, Stefan Salvatore, was also an enigmatic figure. Less of a playboy and more a negotiator, he was married to a younger vampire named Elena, a kind and beautiful immortal who had originally come from the long line of Gilbert Hunters and was hence a symbol of the impossible peace they all were blessed to live in. Their marriage was a union of peacetime.

Within the Salvatore gang, there were many more who came and went, but always pledged loyalty to the Salvatore crew no matter where they were. Notably, a Bennett witch, a member of the High Council of witches and daughter to Elder Sheila Bennett. Jeremy Gilbert, a human brother to Elena Salvatore, represented the Hunters, along with a novice Hunter named Matt Donovan. The younger Bennett witch and the Gilbert Hunter were in love and to be married–yet another impossible matrimony, one that would never have been possible only years before. Occasionally, the gang would be even joined by Alaric Sultzman, heir to one of the most prolific and ancient Hunter families. Keen to monitor supernatural activity and ensure no loss of life, he’d initially approached the group with ideas of ‘keeping them in check’, so to speak; he’d stayed for Damon Salvatore, apparently seduced by their mutual love of bourbon and beautiful women. He was a very powerful ally to have, and securing his loyalty had won the Salvatore gang the favour of the Mikaelsons.

This, thereby, earned Damon Salvatore his reputation as the Underground King.

 

***

 

“You really ought to settle down sometime,” Rebekah declared, “find yourself a nice girl. Or boy.”

Her comment was directed at Damon Salvatore, as they reclined on the luscious red couch, set to the side of the jazz party Klaus had thrown in celebration of the witches’ Harvest and Reaping. It had been successful ceremony, and had thereby guaranteed the continued power of the witch faction; and success for one faction meant a success for them all. Trumpets and saxophones and pianos and all manner of instruments filled the space with delightful music, a catalyst for the excited chatter of the gathered crowd.

Damon smiled slyly at her, lifting his drink to his lips, taking a slow sip before replying, “And chose only one partner, for the duration of such a long life? I don’t think so.”

Rebekah smiled widely. She and Damon got along famously. They even slept together, occasionally, though such meetings were becoming more and more rare, as Rebekah’s relationship with Marcellus became committed.

“I must say,” Damon held up his glass in a toast, “you look absolutely ravishing in that dress.”

She laughed, delighted, and met his glass with her own. He wasn’t lying, or simply garnering favour; she was beautiful. Smooth blonde hair garnished with rubies, red full lips, round cheeks and a dress of diamonds made for a spectacular sight and a stunning Queen. Remembering that she was immortal, more so than even he, elevated her to being some kind of goddess–she would rule this city with her brothers until the end of time, this impossibly stunning woman.

“A shame you’re being converted to monogamy, your majesty,” Damon continued, “I’d very much love to worship you tonight.”

Rebekah’s smile widened, “On the subject of such things, I have a surprise for you.”

“Oh?” Damon’s eyes lit up with anticipation, “Have you decided to elope? Am I invited?”

“No, you scoundrel!” Rebekah giggled, displaying her girlish charm, “Look over onto the dancefloor.”

Damon did. “It’s an impressive gathering. Am I to assume there is an additional point to your instruction, your highness?”

Rebekah never tired of how Damon dared to speak to royalty. It was endlessly refreshing.

“The man standing by the booze,” she leaned into him, and gestured to the person in question, “speaking with your young Bennett witch.”

Damon looked until he spied Bonnie, and then focussed on the man she was speaking to.

He had obviously never set foot within New Orleans before, as his face was entirely unknown to Damon. He was a vampire, that much was apparent; he was also English, well-dressed in a tailored tuxedo, and held himself with an air of arrogance. He had a smirk to rival Damon’s own, eyes bright with perpetual amusement and joviality, and black hair that was combed back. He looked positively roguish, like the kind of gentleman that had seen the beds of many married women. He didn’t seem the type to have come from old money–in fact, there was a wild, lawless attitude about his manner. Damon wondered how he’d come to acquire that suit.

 _A gentleman_ , Damon mused, _much like myself._

“Encouraging me to sleep with a man,” Damon said, turning back to Rebekah, “, and in public, too. How bold of you.”

She rolled her eyes, “Oh, please. You know all that propriety is old hat. Pleasure is pleasure, no matter where one finds it. And, as long as no one is hurt, what could possibly be the harm in seeking such pleasure?”

He grinned. Her views aligned marvellously with his own. “Who is this mysterious stranger, then?”

“His name is Lorenzo St. John, and he arrived only a week ago,” Rebekah explained with a sly smile, “do you recall the dismantling of the Robinson crew? Down in Texas?”

“That was him?” Damon raised his eyebrows, genuinely surprised, “Even we’ve struggled to deal with the Robinsons, for years now... he must’ve had help.”

The Robinson hang were a violent, heinously criminal gang. They enjoyed preying on the weak and the young, and had kidnapped over twenty young women this year alone, so they could be used for blood and pleasure–they’d even kidnapped a witch to enact a cloaking spell upon them. It was sickening; Damon may have been well accustomed to necessary acts of gang violence, but he was utterly sickened by such pointless, barbaric cruelty. Even the Mikaelsons themselves had been unable to catch the gang, having been eluded at every attempt.

“No. He singlehandedly jailed or killed every member of that treacherous gang, all in one night. For the humans, imprisonment, and for the vampires, death.”

Damon scoffed. “Impossible.”

Rebekah sat forward, eyes shining, “No. I was there. I watched him do it.”

Damon’s smile slowly grew, along with his curiosity. He looked over at the stranger again, fascinated.

“…You now have me intrigued. Do tell.”

“Well,” Rebekah began excitedly, “rumour has it, he was a prisoner of the Augustine Hunters, and has therefore has made it his duty to protect the weak, and fight those who abuse their power.”

Damon’s expression sobered. The Augustines had been so inhumane that their deeds had been compared, quite accurately, to that of the Nazis. It had gotten so bad that the Sultzman clan executed them all. And it took a great deal of cruelty to convince Hunters to turn on their own.

“Because he himself was tortured.” Damon said quietly, “How awful.”

“Yes, quite,” Rebekah sat back, sighing dramatically as she produced a cigarette and began to light it, “a terrible state of affairs. At first, I considered he may make a useful addition to your gang, then, as I brought him back here to the city, we talked. And I came to the conclusion that, not only will he be valuable, he may even be quite the temptation for you. He revealed to me that, as well as women, he sleeps with men. Rare, to find one who admits it so openly. Aside from you, of course.”

Damon forced his gaze away from Lorenzo St. John, raising an eyebrow at Rebekah, expression amused. She met his stare with a sly smile, taking a deep drag from her cigarette.

“And what makes you think he will tempt me?” Damon smirked.

“Because you are, quite plainly, two of a kind.” Rebekah stood, weight shifted onto one leg, hip cocked in a way that was decidedly inappropriate for such a social gathering, “I shall go get him, and you two shall talk.”

Damon smiled up at her wryly, and asked, “Do I have a choice in the matter?”

She departed with a brilliant smile.

“Of course not, my dear Damon.”

 

***

 

Damon sat back in the couch and watched Lorenzo approach. He smiled lazily, allowing his eyes to wander Lorenzo’s body. He didn’t mistake the way this stranger walked; slowly, and taking his time. Hips swaying. A drink in one hand, eyes unblinkingly fixed on Damon, a smirk tilting his lips into an alluring grin.

 _Well,_ Damon thought, _this could be fun._

“First the great and powerful Queen,” Lorenzo drawled, “and now the King of the Underground. I’m honoured.”

Damon stood, extended a hand, “No need to be. Damon Salvatore.”

The grip around Damon’s hand was firm and strong. “I’m Lorenzo St. John, as I’m sure your Queen told you. But my friends,” he drawled, “call me Enzo.”

“Enzo,” Damon tasted the word, smiled around it. “Wonderful.”

 

***

 

They stayed and listened to Klaus make grand speeches about family and honour. It would normally have been entertaining in of itself, owing to the practically Shakespearean nature of the his every dramatic proclamation, but Damon found himself bored of the propriety and even the party. Enzo was far more interesting. He’d have much preferred that the two of them leave, but he needed to keep up appearances. The trust of Klaus was hard-won, and easily lost; leaving early would surely capture his attention, and result in no end of problems for Damon.

Just as Klaus had begun to talk about his two absent siblings (managing to use them as an example of betrayal even though Damon had personal knowledge that Klaus had imprisoned them both in coffins), Damon stiffened as he felt a hand on his knee. He looked over at Enzo, who was sitting closer than he had been before. His hand was warm, and he squeezed Damon’s leg lightly. An offer. A suggestion.

Damon met his eyes, saw the mischief in this man’s face. He was tempted. No, more than tempted, he was irresistibly drawn in by this man’s attractiveness, and his blatant disregard for social propriety. Homosexuality wasn’t exactly outlawed, here in this supernatural haven, but it was still frowned upon. And Damon had been yearning for a man that didn’t care, that didn’t hold back. He was tired of men who were ashamed. Men who would try and hurt him afterwards, because they hated who they were.

But he had to make his name here, in New Orleans; this was political more than it was personal. He had to uphold his status, and he couldn’t do that if he kissed Enzo, like he so wanted to. Everyone knew he slept with men, but common knowledge and rumours were vastly different things to public acts of intimacy. Even a kiss, chaste or otherwise, could spell the downfall of his reign as King of the Underground.

So, he leaned over slowly, let his lips brush Enzo’s ear.

“Afterwards,” he said, barely a breath of sound, trying to ensure no one else heard, “not now.”

He leaned away, slid Enzo’s hand off his leg. For a moment, he thought Enzo might be insulted, or disappointed; but Enzo was smiling with a knowing shine in his eyes. He shifted, putting more space between them, had a sip of his drink, and winked. Damon grinned back, then turned his attention to Klaus.

The evening was to turn out even better than he imagined.

 

***

 

“I must say,” Enzo said, looking out the window, “the view from this room is spectacular.”

Damon smiled as he undid his tie. “I’d say the view I presently have is even more so.”

Enzo chuckled. It’d taken them an eternity to finally leave the party, but now they were here, in Damon’s bedroom; finally, they were alone. Free from the judgement of others, free from the cruelty of the age they lived in. Damon couldn’t wait for the years to progress, for when he could live in a world where the love of men was no longer a hedonistic crime.

“Your gang of miscellaneous supernaturals,” Enzo began, turning around slowly, undoing his cuffs, “when will they return?”

“Not for a while.” Damon started undoing his shirt, watched Enzo’s eyes follow the motions of his hands. “But it doesn’t matter if they do return earlier than expected. You aren’t the first lover I’ve met with in this house.”

“Mm,” Enzo walked closer, “I’ve heard the rumours.”

Damon tilted his head, smirking. “And what have you heard?”

Enzo reached forward, undid the last of Damon’s shirt buttons, and slowly slid the fabric off his shoulders. Damon let him. It was so rare to be with a man who wanted to take charge; Damon had never been dominated before, but he allowed himself to stand passively, as Enzo’s eyes roamed him with an unrestrained, unashamed hunger. His heart was hammering, hard and fast, much to his own shock. He’d never felt like this before.

“I’ve heard that you enjoy anyone’s company. That you bargain with your body, and your mouth. That you’ve had many men, and many women. But that no men have had you.”

Damon nodded, smiled lazily, as if he weren’t suddenly desperate for it, suddenly yearning to be made weak under this man’s hand. He wasn’t used to this feeling.

“You’d be correct, Enzo.”

“Well,” Enzo’s hands wandered to Damon’s waist, and lower, to the front of his pants, “shall I be the first man to have you?”

“Need you really ask?” Damon retorted coyly, but he couldn’t hide the breathlessness to his words, or the hammering of his heart which Enzo surely must’ve been able to hear.

“Yes, I do.” Enzo’s hands had stilled, and his expression was serious. “I will only do this with your permission.”

Damon blinked, shocked by his nobility. He found himself touched by this rare display of decency, blushing as the implication of what they were discussing fully hit him. He’d never been fucked by a man before. How strange, that he should be so shocked, after all the partners he’d had over the years. He supposed it made sense; a part of him still saw homosexuality as a forbidden thing, a secret sin. It was as exciting as it was intoxicating, to do something so forbidden.

“Then, Lorenzo St. John,” Damon moved closer, whispered in his ear, “you have my permission.”

 

***

 

Enzo was gentle with him. Loving, patient, willing to take his time. Damon, so unused to men who didn’t feel the need to hurry such an outlawed act of passion, was taken aback by being scrutinised so closely, worshipped so thoroughly. He’d only ever been with men who had grit their teeth and turned their faces away, angry and ashamed, who would leave immediately after the act was done–or the younger ones, who wanted nothing more than to be on their knees for him, willingly submissive and obedient. It shook Damon, being the passive partner. He wasn’t used to it. He wasn’t used to Enzo kissing him deeply, Enzo’s fingers inside him; he wasn’t used to gasping helplessly, unable to control how he was feeling, a stranger to the warmth that was pooling in his stomach and creeping up his spine.

When Enzo told him to get onto his hands and knees, Damon felt so filthy, such a slave to base instincts; he was about to be fucked like a dog, like a bitch. He nearly came, then and there, when Enzo pushed inside him, hands holding Damon’s hips. He felt so full. So possessed, so wholly belonging to another. It ached, it hurt so beautifully, and he’d never felt anything like it before.

He couldn’t breathe.

“Damon? Are you alright?”

He gasped into the pillow, one hand clutching his mouth, trying to keep the _noises_ in, trying to stay silent.

But a moan escaped; it was a helpless, wanton whine of _need,_ and Enzo must’ve understood, because he chuckled quietly.

“Don’t hold yourself back from me,” Enzo commanded, running a hand down Damon’s back, “I want to hear you.”

Damon shook his head. He couldn’t let go like that. He _couldn’t._

Enzo moved inside him, and Damon bit down the cry in his throat, his head spinning. He felt so hot. Boiling with the need, burning up. Enzo moved again, and he nearly sobbed, nearly cried out with how painful it felt, how good that pain was. Enzo moved again, again, again–until Damon was clinging to the pillow for dear life, utterly at the mercy of another man. He felt like such a whore. It took all his will not to beg Enzo to go faster.

But Enzo must’ve known, understood; because he did go faster, his hands pressing down on Damon’s waist, making his back curve. Still, Damon stayed silent, panting with the effort.

It was only when Enzo grabbed both his wrists, pulling his arms behind him and suddenly fucking into him brutally, that Damon cried out brokenly, eyes squeezed shut, head tipped towards the ceiling.

“Good,” Enzo breathed, as the obscene sound of slapping skin filled the air, “you love it, don’t you?”

Damon couldn’t even respond with words; he was gasping, moaning, unable to speak.

_God, yes, please, faster-_

“I knew it, as soon as I saw you,” Enzo was saying, “I wanted you like this, under me, and I knew you’d want it too,”

_Yes, yes, yes-_

“You’re so gorgeous, so perfect-”

_Fuck yes, fuck me, call me a slut, take me like a whore-_

“I should take you home, make you mine, have you every night–you’d like that, wouldn’t you? If I made you mine?”

“Yes,” Damon cried, mouth open, “please, _please-”_

Enzo leaned forward, letting go of Damon’s arms, and suddenly Damon was pressed into the bed, Enzo on top of him, so heavy he could barely breathe–and Enzo was still moving inside him, pressing so deeply. Damon felt fingers in his mouth, a hand across his face. Maybe it was the body against him, smothering him and making him helpless, maybe it was the new angle inside him–whatever it was that triggered him, Damon was suddenly coming, blinded by the ecstasy, his gasps and cries filling the air. Enzo kept moving, and by the time Damon was aware of his body again, he was warm and hypersensitive, limp. Used, manhandled.

“You’re so beautiful,” Enzo breathed, “if I could walk, arm-in-arm, with you, I would. I would show you off to the world.”

Damon felt hands grab him, and willingly allowed Enzo to turn him onto his back. He looked up at Enzo with half-lidded eyes, his mouth open dumbly, arms splayed above his head. Enzo looked back at him, a sudden and unexpected awe filling his dark eyes.

“God,” he said, reaching down, drawing a thumb across Damon’s lips, “do you even know how you are? Your beauty?”

Damon blinked sluggishly at him, barely able to comprehend his words. Enzo surged towards him, and then they were kissing, wetly and deeply.

Enzo whined into Damon’s mouth, and then he was shaking, gasping. He fell on top of Damon, moisture between their bodies, his face pressed into the pillow beside Damon’s head. Cheek to cheek, both of them breathless, both of them gasping.

They didn’t move for a long while.

Damon felt himself drifting, freer than he’d ever been before.

 

***

 

When Damon awoke, Enzo was lying beside him. It was rare, that his male partners would stay, and he turned his head, smiled widely. Enzo sat up immediately, turning onto his side and propping himself up on an elbow. He smirked, gently stroking his fingers down Damon’s cheek.

“No man has ever seen me like that before, or touched me as you did,” Damon told him, “you should feel privileged.”

“I do, believe me.” Enzo leaned down, kissed him softly. Damon closed his eyes, allowed himself to revel in this quiet comfort, this act that was somehow far more intimate than what they’d just done. When Enzo leaned back, their eyes met, and there was something so honest between them, something so sincere and open.

“You could stay,” Damon offered, without thinking, “if you like.”

Enzo smiled, with unexpected shyness, his expression suddenly bashful.

“Only if I may stay here, with you.”

They’d have to come up with a cover story, of course, and they would not be able to walk together in the streets the way they wished. People would talk, inevitably, and some would judge. Perhaps cruelly.

But Damon was the King of the Underground. And he felt no fear, no reservation, when he smiled back and said;

“Of course, Lorenzo.”

He would protect his lover from them all.

 

 

 

 


End file.
